Rule 10

Demons Aren’t & Trolls Toll By The Mile

Statement: Once again, this world surprised me with the strange association between familiar situations and fantastical variations. The bus and bus stop went together perfectly. It showing up out of nowhere made sense for a fantasy land.

How many secret places, such as the Ogre King’s seat of power, and repair bus stops, existed? How many could be made because their logic coupled with magic provided results? If I found a dojo and practiced martial arts, would I learn to fight with weapons besides a knife and explosions? If I flew a kite with a key on it, would I be able to summon electricity?

There were dryads, alluring women with all the right curves and voices that made a man double over in awkwardness. There were ogres. Large masses of muscle with sloped foreheads and hunched backs, which is essentially how I looked as Mister Underwood. Then there was this woman. She existed in a land of grossness well beyond ogres. If she had a baby with Mister Yuck Yuck, the world might delete itself in disgust.

“Where to?” The woman, if it could be called that in any human culture, coughed wetly.

“How much is the fare?” I asked.

“Where to?” she shouted and spit out the door, at me. Her projectile landed on the ground and burned into the grass.

“My preferred destination is Crown State Park. Failing that, anywhere thereabouts would be most welcome.”

“Fifty. Also fifty for cleaning the seat. Stupid ogres can’t wipe their own asses, and leave messes everywhere.”

“And you’ll be able to assist me in arriving at that far off destination.”

“What?” She cleared her throat and nodded. “Yeah, I got your stop. Right here.” She jabbed a map behind her head without looking. I leaned over slightly and stared at the map. It resembled the county I knew. Unreadable notes were scrawled on the paper, portions of it were outright missing.

I nodded and put a foot on the entryway. The bus tilted wildly.

“Hey!” she shouted. I paused midway onto the bus. “Gas, grass, or ass!” She banged on a box near the steering wheel.

What I meant to say was, “Uhhhh.” Instead a far more eloquent set of words came out. “That puts me in the midst of a dilemma.”

I blinked. Being an ogre, since I felt sure that’s what I was, but being ridiculously academic in my word choice did not fit. I wanted a monocle to go with my dainty wine flute. If I used those items, and the book, I could absolutely confuse anyone.

Post Note: Imagine me, naked, the size of a mini-giant, talking like a perfect gentleman. The bus driver didn’t care in the slightest, as if getting on a bus stark naked was normal. Perhaps, in this world, it was.

“No money?”

“I have the requisite funds, naturally.” As before, thought something much different.

Post Note: For brevity’s sake, it’s best to assume anytime I talked as Mister Underwood, what I said and what I meant to say are fairly far removed. The gist is still the same, but the complexity is startlingly different. At times, especially when first using this form, I didn’t recognize myself.

She banged the box. “Card here!” Change rattled in the device and a set of small teeth, possibly belonging to a rat, fell out. The box coughed, and a faint smile formed upon its surface that reminded me of the vending machines.

“Exemplary explanation.” I touched the card to the smiling box’s surface. It purred. The troll-faced bus driver thumbed to the back, grabbed her cigar and knocked ash onto the floor.

I made my way to a seat and sat..

This bus ride felt much different than the original the original one bringing me to a changed world. I spent it nervously bouncing my leg and chewing on my fingernails, in as civil a manner as an ogre with distorted body parts could manage.

It fully registered how bizarre the situation had become. I sat there, on a strange bus, headed toward a new destination, with my Lance and Hawthorn pants and shirt sitting over my “jaw breaking” equipment. The seat was mildly comfortable compared to what I recalled of regular world buses.

The fabric in my hand might serve as a loincloth. It probably wouldn’t last past the first fight. I’d been tempted to find oversized material and store it with the black spell but they wouldn’t last more than ten minutes. While it might be comical to others, for me to be mid fight in material that looked like it’d been spun from a starry night painting, and even funnier to see it fall apart as I came in to bash some insane monster, it sounded disturbing.

“I say,” a man whispered. His voice rolled and echoed softly, as if two or three people spoke in near unison.

I hadn’t noticed any riders until he said something. I turned around, feeling worried that someone had noticed me, and managed to get close without my detection. My elbow slammed into the figure.

“Pardon me. These elongated limbs are difficult to control,” I said.

The man rubbed his face and leaned back. His nose wrinkled in disgust that quickly vanished. He took a breath and smiled.

“No worries,” he answered with that wavering echo of a voice. “I merely wanted to know, are you wearing any pants?”

I took a good look at him.

The man speaking was a demon. Clearly a demon. His eyes were blacker than a lightless pit. He had curved horns forming tight spirals which pointed backward. The final details were red skin and his breath smelled like sulfur. I sniffed and ignored the large pointed bottom teeth. There were comparable to the tusks of a mini-orc but more refined.

Post Note: I feel dirty using the word ‘refined’ to describe a demon—but he was. His look had been obsessively groomed, down to the fine dark hairs that made up a goatee, without a single strand out of place.

We weren’t out to kill each other, apparently. The bus might serve as a neutral zone. Or maybe he wasn’t an insane monster like those found in dungeons. I frowned, recalling my own outlandish appearance. The other factor was my size versus his. I didn’t feel threatened by a creature whose head easily fit within my palm.

Honesty served me best when tackling unfamiliar situations. “Unfortunately. Finding clothes in my size has proven difficult. Pants are too tight, if you understand my implication.”

“You could find a tailor. A woman lives near this route, does fascinating things with a needle and thread. Also a bit of light bondage if that’s your thing?” He lifted a bushy eyebrow. I shook my head. As Mister Underwood, I didn’t have dirty thoughts every other heartbeat. “Perhaps for the best. Though if you’re low on funds, I’ve another tidbit of information for you.”

“Pardon my wariness, but does this information come with a price?”

He laughed, and a dozen voices laughed from his mouth. Their pitch raised and lowered making his mirth somewhere between well-mannered, and a sobbing mental break. Both laughs were familiar to me after all my time as Hawthorn.

“Of course not. There is no room here, between places, for such pursuits. I’m merely killing time, ideally in both meanings of the words.” He leaned over toward me with a hand up, shielding his lips from prying eyes. “Truthfully, I will receive a small benefit for the referral. You understand. We must get ahead how we can, and such a small request is harmless, right?”

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“Of course,” I said with more certainty than I felt. A demon offering me a place for the perfect pair of pants while on a magical bus, driven by a troll bus driver, while I looked like an ogre, all those things combined couldn’t be a trap. Like every other mad factor to this world, it was accept and move on, or question and go insane. I chose the former, it kept me alive.

“And I heard you say you were headed to Crown State Park?”

I nodded.

“Well, you’re in luck. The spiders out there give marvelously effective silk. Last I’d been told, though admittedly this was a month ago, the tailor, ah… I have her card here somewhere…” The demon patted his clothes. “If you’d be a dear and merely show her this.” He pulled a small card out of his pocket.

I hadn’t noticed before but he had on an exceptionally well-tailored suit. It didn’t have sleeves, but the vest and shirt were top notch. He was a sharp dressed demon, and likely ready to make a deal for some poor fool’s soul.

“Here you go. Free of charge. If you see her, be clear in what you seek. She’ll tell you the deal. Haggling is pointless. Bring her enough spider silk and she might be able to craft you more, reliable pants for your… erm”—he faded off, clearly at a loss for words—“unwieldly limbs. In all meanings of the word.”

The demon nodded and smiled.

“That is kind,” I said.

His lips twitched briefly. “Of course, of course. We must all look out for each. In every meaning of the words. A favor here means you may provide a favor later, am I right?” He smiled and chuckled in a dozen low voices.

The card in my hand and his words reminded me of something dangerous I’d heard from months ago. The man who’d sold me my artifact had told me thanking Wildchilds might cause problems. Words were dangerous, and thanking people could lead to owing people more somehow. I hadn’t figured out how it all went together, yet.

“I will certainly consider it when the time comes.” I promised nothing and chose not to say thanks.

“First time taking a bus?” he asked.

“Negative. This is actually the third time I’ve ventured into one of these contraptions.”

“Really? That is interesting. The line didn’t connect to that stop until recently. Did you repair it?”

“I put the sign back into the ground.”

“That’s all?”

“I did assemble a bench and managed to use some wood and nails to get the shelter going.”

“What fine craftsmanship. Who knew ogres were so useful?”

“I was unaware that repairing the stop would have any positive impact.”

The demon nodded and rippled his bottom lip with a huff. The effect sent fresh sulfuric steam into the air. He coughed and a small burble of fire sparked in the back of his throat before dying down.

“We all have our strengths, no doubt. Ogres, I’ve heard tell, are quite industrious. Perhaps you saw them in the city’s center? I’ve heard their leader wants a palace built. The others are all running around like little worker bees. Or ants, I suppose. In either sense of the word.”

“Not all of them,” I said, mindful of my own status as ogre of finer pedigree.

He fully frowned and lifted an arm. I moved my elbow out of his way so the demon could reach past me. A cord was pulled and a bird, I couldn’t see, squawked. The bus driver grumbled and slammed on the brakes. The tires screeched. We spun in circles. My gut tightened as the world blurred.

We came to a gradual halt. The driver grumbled in between coughing fits. She leaned over and shouted back at us, “Get off!” Then hocked a fresh glob of phlegm onto the floor.

I stared at my feet and wondered how I’d walked through all that without noticing. This form might not have any feeling on my soles. The demon stood and gave me a polite half-bow.

“The crossroads. My stop, I’m afraid. If you wish to find me again simply drop by. Though I’m afraid it will have to be more formal. For both of us, in both meanings of the words. You understand, of course?”

I didn’t. The implications were clear but the actual results might vary. My head bobbed and I watched the demon go to the front of the bus. He stopped at the ash, shook his head in what might be disapproval, and stepped off.

“Ah, Mister Underwood!” he shouted through the open door. I leaned forward looked out through the tinted windows.

“Yes?”

“Have you called your therapist yet?” the demon asked, his voice lifting in a yell. He laughed, and a dozen voices came out with mocking amusement.

My mouth hung open. The bus doors slammed shut and our driver peeled out. We left him behind in seconds as the bus traversed the narrow remains of highway at breakneck speed. Outside was a nightmare, but inside we hardly felt any of the gravitational forces that should have been pulling us. My head should have been reeled back and chest struggling for breath.

“Next stop! Crown State Park! That’s you, idiot,” she said.

I needed more information before we reached our stop. My clothes were still bundled in front of my privates. The ogre didn’t even glance in her mirror to see me walking up. She growled and leaned over to unleash snotty hell upon my feet.

I stepped back and said, “If I might inquire, how does one return to where we were picked up at? Additionally, I’d like to inquire as to the time.”

“And I want the winning lottery numbers!” She jabbed toward my eye with the cigar.

My eye twitched as both shoulders bunched, and fists tightened. This tiny half-a-slimeball was treating me like garbage. I almost backhanded her but managed to keep the violent impulse under control. She’d driven me to a destination that I’d had no idea on how to get to.

She snorted, spit, again, and took a long drag of her cigar. Above her head a spot on the map brightened with a point of fire. The driver frowned, stared at my tensed arms and seemed to reconsider her earlier aggression. She reached for a bar on her right, cranked it back and the tires started sobbing under the sudden pressure of an emergency brake.

“Time is subjective,” she snarled the words. I grabbed onto the wooden rail above me for support and almost dropped the bundle of clothes. None of this prevented the driver from talking. “A minute here. An hour there. An hour here, days outside. And if there’s a stop, and you got money, I’ll show up. But unless you got more money, get off my bus!”

She jabbed me with her cigar again and I stumbled backward, out the door. I did not have more money, and her answer satisfied my questions. Back inside the bus, barely visible above the driver’s head, a second point of light appeared on the map. Her expression soured, if such a face could get uglier.

My foot hit the road. The door slammed shut and a heartbeat later the bus was gone.

Post Note: I’m fairly sure the lights on the map help her know where to go. I also assume she’s tied to it, and perhaps the bus, on an instinctual level. Similar to how I am with my rune spells. Maybe people were able to exchange debt points for experience orbs, while those of us fighting gathered both. If so, it was a system that encouraged co-dependency and specialized roles. More on this later…

I stood there for a few minutes and managed to ignore the cool night wind on my exposed butt cheeks. It’d been sunset when I completed the shelter. Our bus ride had taken a handful of minutes, which, according to the driver’s words, meant most of the night had passed. Dawn should be right around the corner but I didn’t feel tired.

Magic, once again, proved capable of making life weird. Simply put, taking the bus had upsides and downsides. The fare would have probably been higher to travel farther. It made me wonder how much a trip back to the stadium where we’d all been gifted our original powers might cost.

It also made me wonder what I did with the other business card I’d been given by that long-bearded dwarf. He’d spit a lot too. Maybe he and the bus driver were considered Underkin and being uncaring about neatness was a species trait.

Post Note: As always, each experience gave me more information but left more questions.

Upon turning, I discovered a bus stop sign. It leaned to one side and vines grew around it. Flowers toward the post’s top faced in my direction. I took two steps forward and glanced at the buds. They shifted to continue facing me.

I started to prepare an explosive spell, before remembering the bus stop sign would be useful in the future, and this form didn’t play well with that spell. I took a breath, positioned my clothes over my groin to maintain some modesty, and marked the flowers as a possible threat.

Post Note: The flowers did not attack, but in my defense, they might have leapt off the vine and gone for my eyes. It would have been foolish to discount nature, especially in a new land where monsters might leap out of any corner.

A few yards behind the bus stop was a giant archway spanning two or three lanes of ruined pavement. The edges were rusted, and webs spun between the ironwork. Curls where laurels had been were distorted and spikier. I sniffed the air, it contained a mixture of dampness and overturned earth.

Thick fog blurred my vision, hanging in a solid mass near the giant archway. I knew the fog but had never seen it that thick before. Arson used a special incense to protect the cart. It almost functioned exactly opposite of perfumes—by driving away monsters instead of luring them.

I stepped toward it. With each large step the cart became more distinct. The donkey stood there with its head hanging low. It’d been released from the straps but remained inside the fog. An umbrella stuck up on one side of the driver’s seat, and rain boots on the other. Beer cans littered the ground.

Arson must be there. He’d survived the trip. With his three escorts it should have been easy enough, assuming the monsters out here were as simple as the mini-orcs.

Post Note: They weren’t. Aren’t. Whatever term applies, I simply hadn’t known at the time.

I decided, to play a trick. In hindsight, it wasn’t the wisest move I’d ever made, but once committed there was no escaping. It was as though a voice in the back of my head suggested the idea and I couldn’t help but agree.

My bare feet carried me quietly along the ground. I hadn’t checked my stealth in this form so focusing on silence would help. I leaned over Arson and unleashed hell.

“Excuse me,” I said in a stern voice.

Arson fell backward. The umbrella went one way, and another beer can clattered to the ground. The donkey reared and brayed. I smiled in delight at seeing him get upset. Normally he acted aloof and uncaring about all four of us. He’d been that way since I met him. We were just passengers and he simply drove the cart toward destinations unknown. After riding the stewardesses’ bus I felt amazed at the sheer variety within their similar roles.

“Pardon me, kind sir, but would you have any pants?”

“Why would I have a thing for ants!” he shouted and waved a stick of smoke at me. The smell made my nose itch but did nothing to drive me away.

“Pants,” I repeated loudly, smacking my lips to emphasize the sound. My free hand lifted the bundle of clothes belonging to my smaller form.

The man’s face twisted as he glanced up and down, settling upon my exposed privates. It was cold so the sight might not have been impressive for an ogre, but it surely passed the standard human average.

“That’s a penis!” He waved the stick of incense with more energy.

I laughed and considered my joke successful.